The darker side of the sun
by Akatsu Fate Chan
Summary: Balance, it's such a fragile thing. What if we break it? What would then appear? Let the world burn, I'll be sure to find out," Quirrel-mort. 'Shall we help him' did ask her inner logic, 'He does have a point,' she conceded mentally. Girlharry! On Semi-permanent Hiatus!
1. Chapter one

Disclaimer, don't own. RETYPING!

Soon, Lucante swore to herself, life would be different.  
The fragile seven year old was sitting in the yard of her home, watching the snow falling from the sky.  
Everything was a tranquil white. Almost hypnotising in it's intensity, the snow was something she liked.  
Lucante was dressed in a simple plain white cotton dress, and it wasn't the most expensive of things.  
Her aunt had gotten it from a thrift store; it had been unwanted for everyone else, and a bargain for her.  
Just like Lucante herself, unwanted by her family and yet at the same time, taken advantage of.

Lucante knew well enough that child credits and such was being given to her parents.  
Though she knew that mostly because of the muttering of some people in town, about how she must be worth only that money.  
She was seen as a delinquent who couldn't help but rip up her stuff and that that's the reason why nobody ever saw her wearing anything worthwhile.  
Everyone, unsurprisingly, chocked the lies they were being fed down with a content smile. Everyone loves something to gossip about.  
Of course, Lucante was sure that, if the parents at certain houses knew the truth, they wouldn't look at the Dursleys as they did.  
For one thing, it was obvious (to the children, at least) that Dudley was the neighborhood menace and sought out children to bully.

Ah yes, Dudley. Lucante had a lot to say about Dudley. For one thing, she had her suspicions about whether he was right in the head.  
The animal abuse he did, which his parents tolerated, wasn't normal for a kid to do.  
Considering that aunt Petunia and uncle did not abuse people and generally kept Lucante miserable in the emotional and neglectful way, he must have learned to do so himself. And that, was apparently a sign of psychopathy. An disorder which she had read in a book once, but hadn't fully understood.  
Despite her mature outlook, Lucante was basically still a normal child, not a genius. She only remembered, vividly, that the book had talked about abusing animals while in childhood. Apparently that was a rather serious sign of this psychopathy deal.

Lucante was split into separate mental manifestations, her way of keeping herself sane under the emotional abuse inflicting upon her.  
There was her inner logic. Her inner pride. Her inner hooligan. An an unnamed one who only whined and panicked and was frankly quite unproductive.  
Bravery was mainly in control; so Bravery could be said to be Lucante, but bravery wasn't her other facets. I aren't thou, but thou are me, kind of like that.  
At the moment, her inner logic was talking about the weather, and the fact that below 12 degrees there was the possibility of hypothermia.  
Lucante stretched her arms, "Who cares," she commented lazily, cracking her neck obnoxiously to add to the fact that the discussion was over.

What was the point if Lucante was given the possibilities of something happening, if she could not do anything to prevent it from happening anyway.  
_''Oh stop it,''_ inner logic mumbled back, depressed, '_'There is such a big possibility of us dying, and this is how you react? You should be panicking.''_  
Inner pride thanked Lucante for not doing so. It would have been embarrassing and humiliating. Even if they were on their lonesome.  
_''Whoooh! Let's put stones into snow balls and throw them at windows!'_' Inner hooligan cheered brightly and Lucante winched and pressed her callused palms to her ears. '_'No need to shout, considering we share the same eardrums,'_' inner logic scolded before becoming silent.

Lucante decided that nothing was gained from sitting where she was. She knew of the existence of a park not far from the house.  
If her aunt wanted her, Lucante would be able to hear her yelling. It was the only logical choice to make.  
She pushed herself upwards, and then began to toddle to Pendagreen park on unsteady feet, the ground icy and it being dark.  
Once there, she collapsed under the slide. Or, the "Helter Skelter," as it was apparently also known as.  
The words were strange, so she liked using them. Strangeness was something Lucante was unfortunately deprived from.  
Though, she knew not that other household were different from hers, so she didn't realise that her household was strange indeed.

If she had, maybe she would have done an attempt to contact the correct authorities. But she hadn't and as such, was unaware that things could get better.  
That's why, while she couldn't act docile considering she was Bravery, she still acted less lively as she would have, had things been different.  
A sudden rush of weakness submerged her and her eyes closing, she swayed where she was seated. Once, twice, and then she collapsed.  
Lucante had fainted.

In the night, the oehooing of an owl was heard. Then, a rustle from the parks trees. A figure slipped down from the canopy.  
This figure, dressed as he was in layered robes, stitched by fine silver looked much like he had just arrived from some fairytale or perhaps the past.  
This figure checked her over, red eyes watching her breathing laborious before the owner seemingly came to a decision.  
He crouched down, and then he hefted her over his shoulder like a potato sack. With one lingering glance, the figure and his package disappeared.

A/n I'm redoing this, again. (I'm never going to be satisfied, it seems) Short but sweet, this is somewhat more of the vibe I wanted to give. This character was unfortunately becoming a Mary Sue so I'm definitely going to rewrite this somewhat, to at least make her less so.


	2. Chapter two

Disclaimer, don't own.

When Lucante came to, it was cautiously. The material of the bedspread was fairly different from her own ratted blanket.  
She knew that she was probably somewhere else. Smelling no cats, Miss Figg's place could also be crossed from her mental list.  
Inner logic coached her, _''Breath in very deeply, but slowly. Don't open your eyes. Pay attention to your other senses, to get a better picture of this place.''_  
But Lucante was known for being reckless, so the subtle manner of trying to gain information was not for her.  
She quickly lost interest and forced her eyes open. She lifted her hand just a tad, to cover her mouth, as she yawned.

As she did so, her gaze furtively searched through the place, this unfamiliar place.  
It seemed Spartan, and therefore spacious. There was a bed; she was on it, and a fireplace.  
There was a snap, crackle, as the man with his back towards her, threw some firewood to keep the fire going.  
When he turned around to face her, she knew he'd already known she was awake.

The man looked to be in his middle ages; his hair plaited neatly down the middle, errant strands tucked behind his ears.  
He was wearing what seemed to be an expensive bath robe, if the stitching was anything to go by, and his features undeniable plain.  
It was the look, the nondescript look, that Lucante imagined a potential rapist to harbour, so nobody would be able to remember him.  
_''If you panic, I'm going to butcher you,''_ inner pride grouched sleepily and Lucante, affronted, frowned.  
The man took it to be towards him, as he took it as an invitation to speak and assure her he meant no harm.

"My name is Quirrel," he admitted bluntly, "And you are Lucante. Isn't that so?"  
She nodded, "Yes, I am," and narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, remaining silent afterwards.  
"That's great!" he brightened up a bit, "I knew who your parents where, so-" Lucante turned her head away.  
This had to be some kind of joke. Nobody reputable knew her parents, the deadbeat drunks they were, and he wore some expensive stuff so he had to be reputable.  
He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she, unused to the touch, flinched and drew her other hand to strike at it.  
She didn't like to be touched. She never had been, only seen the touches others gave others. She disliked the emotion most often depicted.  
The emotion which she had never felt, which she couldn't discern. She hated that emotion. IT reminded her of her whiny counterpart.

He drew away, slowly as if she were some animal and sudden movements would cause her to attack.  
It was silent, for a moment, except their breathing and the crackling of the fireplace. A charged, electrifying silence.  
"I see. You don't like to talk about them?" he inquired, not one to evidently give up and she shrugged.  
Lucante had never had anybody to talk about her apparent miserable excuse of parents before.  
"Um, we studied at the same school." Lucante, unwillingly rose a brow in question. Studied?  
But didn't her dead beat parents drop out of school after their first year of middle school?

He took the gesture to mean "Tell me more," and continued his story with somewhat more enthusiasm.  
"I'm sure you already know all about them; how your father was a prefect and then headboy, how your mother was the same."  
Finally, Lucante decided enough was enough and drew the covers aside, "May I go back home?" she asked in a monotone.  
There was no way her parents had been prefects. They were horrid people. People to be embarrassed of.  
The man, surprised, nodded his acquisition. "Though, could we finish this conversation later? It would do us both good."  
Lucante shrugged. She doubted she'd see him again. This man was obviously paid to make her life miserable, by putting on an act and then ripping it apart.  
However, considering she wasn't dumb enough to fall for his act, she was sure he'd simply say that he had done what he'd been paid for.

The man was good on his promise and escorted her back home in a taxi, where he promised that they'd meet again next Saturday, and made her promise to be at Pendagreen park. "Sure, whatever," Lucante answered quickly and then she turned her back to him and strolled down the path to her house.  
She had a lot to think about. Like, who could it be that would pay for such a thing? Her relatives were too stingy, they were out of her list of suspects.  
When at the door, she knocked and Petunia dragged her into the house, making sure to only touch clothe, muttering to herself.  
Apparently Lucante was late in making breakfast. Yay. Just what she had always wanted to be. She wouldn't even have her customary scraps to eat.

Vernon, her uncle, had apparently already left for Grunnings, his work, so Lucante would only have to make breakfast for two; Dudley and Petunia.  
She cooked expertly; because of the practise, it had been either become proficient or burn herself, and she'd chosen the former option.  
She never did get any thanks, or any praises from her relatives for her exquisite meals, but that would be creepy as hell so she was glad for that mercy.  
When making meals, one could just let their minds trail of. Lucante's favourite time of the day, when she wasn't reading or sleeping, as she could daydream unhurriedly. Other menial labor had this strange way of keeping one minds blank. It actually took a lot of effort to daydream. This was heaven, in comparison.  
Speaking of which, Lucante hadn't done anything vaguely life threatening for some time. Maybe she should jump of the green house roof?  
The screeching complaints of her other selves (except Hooligan, who was cheering her on) put that plan on hold. Unfortunately.

But being brave was her prerogative. If she didn't do it now and then, she'd melt like she was some witch being burnt to the stake.  
That thought made her snort and stiffle appearing giggles. Being a witch, hah! She's rather be a sorceress, it sounded much more sexy and mature.  
Though she could act as if the cooking apparatus was a cauldron, it was very easy to envision. Her mother had done so too.  
Lucante had found her mother's diary, albeit it had been ripped and torn, many pieces of paper missing.  
It showed her mother to be a daredevil also, and talked about some boy named Severus. Maybe that person had been her father?  
Lucante could imagine the both of them deciding to take a joyride with a car, doped up with alcohol and crashing rather devastatingly.

A hand snatched away the pan mid thought and Lucante watched as her aunt quickly held the pan in the sink. It had been on fire.  
Lucante blinked, before she smirked. "Oops, I meant to do that. I mean didn't mean." Either way, it hadn't been unwelcome.  
"Girl, cupboard, now!" aunt Petunia seemed to be a tomato and her voice had risen to a screech.  
Lucante sashayed away, confidently, just to antagonise the woman even more, and couldn't hold in her parting quip.  
"I suppose you'll have to cook from now on. I suppose I'll never be a good accessory for the arm of a man."  
That was all her aunt was, and the woman knew it, if her glare was enough to conclude on.  
Though Lucante hoped she'd be still allowed to cook. She would, most likely. Because she acted as if she disliked it.  
Her relatives sole goal in life often seemed to make her miserable, and considering she apparently "Disliked it," they'd come to favourable conclusions.  
That attitude of their was so childish, though if the tables were turned, Lucante was sure she would act the exact same way. Mostly because of what they do to her.  
The wild cackling of inner Hooligan was her lullaby for the night.

A/n Yeah, I changed her character a lot. It just didn't make sense for her to believe things so quickly from a stranger and disbelieve what the Dursleys have forcefed her throughout the years. It makes for an unrealistic plot, and Lucante being less cautious and more happy go lucky and mentally healthy also made for an improbable character going through what she is going through. Also, I fell in the pitfalls that many writers do, when I wrote about the whips and whatnot. So I made for a swap; mental rather then physical. IT is the worst kind and can result in many more future issues for a child to overcome, which could often not be overcome. Also, I sounded like a chauvinistic person a lot, about the trophy wife and what not. 'Cause it's okay to be that way, if you want to be. It is in fact just as bad to force a person to act more so called "Manly," and announce that she's bad at female things, because then it seems like those female things are bad and weak and those manly things are good. Which, in turn, is once again considering females to be weak. I'm a starting feminist. :) Also, Quirrel was rather not Slytherin. His bluntless was on the edge of being Gryffindorish. Yeah. That was a gross mistake. He'd first test the surface, rather then taking a deep dive. Observation, rather then acting in one way or another. One can learn a lot to not presume things like my Quirrel-mort has done.


	3. Chapter three

Disclaimer: Do not own.

The monkeys were making faces at her. Lucante made them right back then sighed, exasperated with herself.  
What was she doing? She really did wonder. She was exerting too much energy, it was too hot to focus.  
Lucante fanned herself slightly with the foldable fan she'd been able to nab from a random tourist busy with taking photographs.  
She was now ten years old. Three years had passed, since the first meeting between Quirrel and her.  
Unfortunately, they were now quite familiar with one another. Having him as a babysitter does that.  
Yes, somehow, he'd signed himself up to be her sitter whenever the Dursleys needed to leave on holiday.  
Mrs Figg was apparently not good enough for her rampant relatives.

It was with disbelieve that she still eyed him, because his tales could be nothing more then lies.  
He talked about dragons. About a place called Hogwarts. About witches and wizards stirring cauldrons.  
Nothing but children's tales. Nothing but lies. There was something not quite right with his head, to believe in them.  
However, because of some unspoken agreement, neither brought up her parents again. Not that Lucante would have done so in the first place.  
He believed his words, and she'd rather he not think her as the daughter of his amazing friends.  
Lucante wasn't comfortable with affection, despite that she was now at least used to the slightest of touches.  
She couldn't deal with it, having brought up the way she was. She hated anything romance related, or even platonic.  
Anything that had to do with being friends and having to be close to one another was meant to be taboo in her opinion.

Quirrel had jokingly suggested she may be asexual, one day and when she'd taken him serious and interrogated him, told her everything she wanted to know.  
Yes, what he said did make sense. Being asexual didn't mean she couldn't get aroused. It just meant she had no desire to do anything mildy sexual with anyone or anything. She could masturbate, but only pictures were really interesting. Thinking about getting up and close with someone always made her lips curl with disgust.  
Though, she may be at the extreme section, since some people are remotely fine with kissing and the actual deed, though they could life without.  
Lucante was a product of her screwed up childhood, so sometimes she did have to wonder if she'd be the same if brought up differently.  
But she wouldn't have wanted to be spoiled as Dudley did. Becoming slothful, greedy and a possible future criminal did not sit well with her.  
Yes, Lucante was fine with being subtle enough that her minor crimes would never land her a title as boring as "Criminal."

As far as now, she mostly stole things; little things, trophies to remind her of nice memories. Like this fan, she would be reminded of this zoo whenever she used it.  
Quirrel encouraged her little habit. Slipped her some tips, now and then. Acted very casual about it.  
Lucante, influenced by him, believed the habit to be nothing harmful. And it wasn't as bad as what Dudley did, and he was basically the only measuring pole she had.  
It had been Quirrel who at first had fed her the word, "Trophies," to assign to her things. She'd shrugged and gone along with it.  
It didn't matter, right? To take his advice, now and then? Even inner logic didn't dispute the logic of Quirrel's words.  
Well, when it wasn't Hogwarts related, that is. Or parent related.

Quirrel touched her shoulder, the slightest touch to draw her attention. She did not flinch anymore, though she did pivot on her foot to face him.  
In his hand, a Knickerbocker Glory for himself, and a pear icelolly for her. She loved those.  
Smiling somewhat, she allowed herself to be led to the snake section of the zoo. Though it was more like the reptile block, considering the existence of turtles.  
There, she licked her lolly sedately as she trailed her gaze over the glass cabinets and the creatures inside them.  
"That one's cute," she said, pointing to one of the boxes, the information board next to it proclaiming the creature to be from Brazil.

He followed her gaze. "Hmm," he nodded humming thoughtfully. "It does like like a fine specimen."  
That reminded her. Quirrel had told her about Parselmouthes and that he was one. Here was a great opportunity to showcase his lies to be lies.  
"Hey, Quirrel," she stated, her tone inconspicuously casual, "Didn't you say you were a parselmouth? Could you ask whether that snake is being looked after well?"  
He must have sensed something unusual, for the air instantaneously became tense. "Oh?" he breathed, not louder then a whisper. "You would like that, would you?"  
She nodded slowly, trying to come over as serious but not overtly so, "Hmhm, yes, It's so cute, I wouldn't want it to be harmed."  
But the atmosphere, strangely enough, did not regain it's previous carefree shine. Instead, he walked over to the glass case she had been motioning towards and gestured for her. Lucante did so, not finding it odd, considering he would be hissing and hisses were soft. She'd have to be close to see whether the snake was also answering.

And then, something strange happened. "Speak to me," Quirrel said, eyes on the snake whom looked to be asleep. He'd spoken in English. Was he not even going to attempt the lie? However, the snake did react. It uncurled itself from it's folded up position, raising it's head to look at them, tongue flicking out to taste the air. And then it spoke back. "Yes?" In English. Lucante was dumbfounded, gaped, as her three year long believes shattered around her in pieces, "W-what?" she stuttered.  
A flash of Quirrels eye, the air becoming heavy with intent. "You can speak," the snake said, surprised. It was Lucante who should be shocked. "Well, yes, I mean, so can you. Why wouldn't I, then?" she asked, tripping over her own words, somewhat. She was awed. Was everything Quirrel had said, true!?  
"Because you're not a snake," the snake spoke back, tasting the air, "You shouldn't speak." Lucante frowned at the snake and the apparent arrogance it held for it's race. "That's prejudice," she commented sharply, leaning against the glass now, "Just because I'm a human, I'm not allowed to communicate!?"

Quirrel intervened before a full blown argument could happen, gesturing her to follow him to some quiet corner of the reptile block. She followed, still somewhat in shock. Then her parents, her parents. Weren't they good for nothings? Now with more privacy, Quirrel began to speak.  
"You're a parselmouth," he breathed and seemed just as shocked as she. Lucante shifted her weight to her left foot, tilting her head to the side in question.  
"But it spoke English, so, shouldn't the snake be called an Humanmouth?" because parsel meant snake in English. Though, that did sound silly.  
The man let out a sibilant laugh. "No," he said, "You are misinterpreting things again. You spoke Parseltongue, and so it automatically translated in a language you are most familiar with." Lucante shook her head. Her head hurt. "Can't we go back?" she asked voice cracking with carefully suppressed emotion, "I want to go back." Lucante wanted to be alone, inner pride wouldn't allow a mental breakdown to happen in close quarters with said reason for the mental breakdown.  
He nodded, agreeing with her. "Though I'll have to see you tomorrow. About Hogwarts." She winched. Yeah. They probably should hold a conversation, now that she actually believed him.

Once back home, or what was the barest minimum of it, Lucante started to cry. All on her lonesome.

A/N She's indeed a brat, and I've showed some more repercussions of her childhood. The dislike of touch. Of love. And the trophies. Sound familiar, anyone? Also, I quickened the story line somewhat; don't have any patience, you see. Besides, Hogwarts is always more exciting then getting to know a character's mental health.


End file.
